Don't you wish there was a way to check out? That's how I used to think of it. I wanted somewhere I could go, where I wouldn't be tempted to scroll through social media sites, where my overwhelming thoughts of anxiety and depression couldn't find me, where I could focus solely on myself and forget about the struggles I was facing in my life, just for a few minutes.
With my therapist, psychiatrist, and family over a hundred miles away, I didn't know where to turn to. Never did I think I could find what I was looking for by clipping into a stationary bike. But the day my best friend took me to my first SoulCycle class was the day I began the journey of taking back my mental health.
Imagine a dark room, lit solely by candles, rounded out with the subtle hum of a wheel and the steady rhythm of the music. That's SoulCycle. Most people are intimidated by the thought of the place. It isn't something easy to explain, and with its seemingly cult-like following, newcomers often don't know what'll be waiting for them except for one of the most intense workouts they've ever experienced.
For me, Soul wasn't about the workout, at least not at the beginning. No phones in the room meant no way to be looking at pictures that led me to compare myself to other people. The pounding I was constantly feeling in my heart turned into pounding on the pedals, and tear drops turned into drops of sweat. I had found a place where the outside world disappeared, and I felt like I could feel normal.
I was a number on a bike. I was the beat of the music. I was focused. I was strong.
I wasn't scared. I wasn't anxious. I wasn't sad. I wasn't lonely.
For a long time, Soul was the one place I felt motivated. It was my therapy. It was my prayer. It where was I rediscovered the strength I felt my mental illness had taken from me. If I had a bad day, all I had to do was go hop on a bike, and I could walk out feeling like myself again.
An instructor once started a class with, "Let's go somewhere on a bike that goes nowhere." And that has stuck with me since she said it. Some people are there to get in their daily sweat. And there's nothing wrong with that. But I'm there to run towards a feeling of mattering again. Over the past 9 months, I've been able to prove to myself that I am enough again.
I don't want to check out anymore. I want to check in.
I don't feel like I'm running away from my problems when I'm on the bike. I feel like I'm running into the storm of myself. I'm pushing my body in ways it has never been pushed before, and with nothing to focus on but how much resistance was on my wheel, I was able to explore what was inside my head. Homework melted away. Text messages melted away. Depression melted away. Anxiety melted away.
It was just me, my bike, and the music.
SoulCycle didn't fix my mental illness. Nothing can. But it has helped me manage it in ways I never thought possible. It's not uncommon for me to tell someone about a bad day and have them immediately ask, "Well did you go ride at Soul?" People understand now that I've been able to use tapping it back and sprinting in third to balance my anxiety.
I can't always control the way my brain thinks. I can't control the fact that I go 0-60 when something bad happens. I can't help that some things make me want to cry and run away. I can't control that there are chemical imbalances in my brain that need help to be balanced.
But I can control adding another touch to the wheel. And I can control how hard I push my self.
It's been nine months. Likely over a hundred rides. Working at two studios. Losing 30 pounds. But most importantly, it's been rediscovering myself and conquering my mental illness with each hill and crack jog.
SoulCycle isn't just a workout. It's a lifestyle. And no, they didn't pay me to say this just because I work for them. I work for them because I am so grateful for every time I've been able to leave my troubles outside, and selflessly focus on finding what makes me feel good.
Change your body. Change your mind. Find your soul. They should add conquer your demons to the slogan.
